After Everything
by Jem Kallop
Summary: After being defeated by the Pharaoh, Bakura finds himself in a new body and finally free of the demon who so tainted his life. His feet carry him to the only place he has ever called home, but it seems that Marik is no longer there. Or perhaps things are not as simple as they first appear to be... Post-canon thiefshipping oneshot, mostly fluff. XD


**Another thiefshipping oneshot! This one is for my lovely friend CursiveBlade13, because she is a wonderful support to me. It is also her birthday today, so happy birthday C, and I'm sorry this is quite late! There is fluff (and lots of it), with a bit of angst. ^_^**

**This is set post-canon, so after the Millennium World and the Ceremonial Duel. The Pharaoh is in the afterlife. I hope you enjoy! - Jem**

Bakura stalked the house with dark trepidation lying deep in his gut.

It was quiet, which was normal. Eerily quiet, so silent that his every breath echoed through the rooms, shivering through the air like frost in sunlight, unkempt and out of place. In his mind's eye the walls shook a little with his every footstep, quaking in the dwindling light as he paced through the empty rooms, restless, alone. The blinds at the kitchen window were shabby and dusty, curling slightly at the edges from too long hanging in the sunlight. _Well, that's what blinds are for!_ Bakura found himself cursing angrily. _They're meant to sit in the sun all day, so to hell with it if they decide that they're going to break because of that._

This whole place, in fact, served as more of a reminder to darker days than anything else. It had been years since Bakura last paced these corridors, back when he had almost been a different person – his body, soul and mind had not been entirely his own. He certainly hadn't ever thought that he would be coming back here. It was different now, though; this house was empty, and the previous occupier was presumably long gone. Bakura should have expected as much, if he was honest with himself.

Standing in the kitchen and feeling a little foolish, Bakura skimmed one hand over the side of the counter as his eyes shifted restlessly through the shadows. He had slipped in through the back door, the way he always had when he used to stay here regularly, but this time it felt different; he truly felt like an intruder, although he was only entering a piece of his own past. He took a step forwards, his heart heavier in his chest than it had been since he finally freed himself from the demon within his soul. He could not deny that a small part of him – small, but irrepressible – had clung onto the belief that maybe, just maybe, Marik would have waited for him; that he would have remembered the earlier promises, the wishes and wants, the dreams of a lifetime ago. Did Marik even know Bakura was back? Did any of the whole sorry lot realise that the ending of the story had not quite arrived?

Of course not.

Bakura was bitter as he continued his path through the house, exiting the kitchen and sliding down the small hall until he reached the living room door. He highly doubted whether any of the others would still be affected by what had happened in the world of the Pharaoh's memories. Bakura had planned and planned for years, every passing day his soul tinting blacker from that damned demon, his plans for revenge becoming warped and twisted until they were something else entirely. Bakura had never wanted world dominion – he had never sought for others to bow down to him, never felt the need for the obedience and subservience of others. Even the title 'Thief King' was something thrust upon him, and not a title that he would have chosen for himself. Leading people and changing the world was for fools like the Pharaoh – Bakura preferred to be silent in his stealth. Marik had thought like that, too – even after his supposed reformation in Battle City, he had worked against the Pharaoh by feeding Bakura information, and keeping their continued alliance a secret. Bakura had never thanked him for that.

The front door beckoned him from just up ahead, but Bakura ignored it in favour of twisting the handle of the wooden living room door, slipping silently into the shadowy room instead; he wasn't ready to leave yet. He was still remembering.

His time spent in this house had hardly been happy or satisfying, for either of them. Bakura had often thought that perhaps he and Marik should have severed all ties after the debacle that was Battle City; it would have made things much easier. But, no, Bakura had been too selfish for that. Marik had still been useful; he had known all of the Pharaoh's secrets, he understood the Pharaoh's past, he was the very key to the Pharaoh's memories! Bakura had used him shamelessly, and then, upon discovering that the foolish teenager actually had _feelings_ for him, Bakura had had little to no difficulty in taking their relationship to the next level. Marik was an ever-willing counterpart by his side.

But Bakura had been damaged. He was a soul in three parts, after all – three sharers in the Ring, that beautiful cold metal that had housed him for _so long; _long enough for him to lose who he was. The demon had warped him more than he realised, shifting his perspective and altering his motives, seeking power and might, not simply revenge. Bakura was a thief, that had always been true, but the demon had always wanted so much more. More than Bakura could give. More than the world could give; everything was devoured in its ever-present hunger. Who was Marik, to stand up to that?

Marik had tried, though. Bakura remembered those fights as he wandered around the living room, fingertips brushing lightly over once-familiar belongings as he lost himself in half-remembered harsh words. Marik had been against Bakura's plan, and he had made it known.

_"What actually is it that you're planning to accomplish here? If it's simply revenge I can understand that; I would support you, even. But it isn't just about revenge anymore, is it? You are always seeking more."_

_"The world doesn't need another damned leader, Bakura! I tried that, remember? I tried and failed, just as you will if you go through with this crazy idea."_

_"You can't honestly expect to win! You're just throwing yourself into the pit for nothing! You'll die, and that'll be it, and the world will just forget you, and forget your people. That's what you're really looking at here – death and destruction, and it will never end."_

Well, Marik had been wrong about that, at least.

Of course Bakura hadn't won. He had never expected to win, not really, but the demon in his soul had grown drunk on power to the point that the lines of reality had faded - enough to convince him that they could win, anyway. The poison had seeped into Bakura's soul until he was powerless against it. And so, he had gone. Marik had been resigned to it, in the end, his violet eyes dimmed as he looked expressionlessly into Bakura's impassive features. There had been no words; they had said it all already. Bakura had walked out of the door, and Marik went to do his job, on the side of the Pharaoh. Their places were set; the game simply had to play out.

But the ending had gone wrong.

Just as Bakura always knew he would, the demon had fallen at the hands of the Pharaoh. But Bakura hadn't fallen with him. It was true that Bakura's time in the Ring had made him one with the darkness, twisted into something he was never intended to be, but the demon hadn't counted on the other sharer in the Ring. The light one had tainted Bakura, too, splitting his soul three ways until he was no longer sure where one ended and the other began. He only knew that, once the demon had fully taken over back in the Memory World, Bakura had somehow found himself back in a pale body, thrust once more into the modern age, all his three thousand years of memory still intact. He assumed this body was mortal – it certainly had a beating heart, _his_ for the first time in three thousand years. And his feet had taken him straight back to the closest thing he had to a home. Marik's home.

Only, Marik himself was missing.

"Well, what did I honestly expect?"Bakura found himself muttering as he quietly exited the living room, heading slowly for the stairs. "Marik would have no reason to stay here, not now his job's done. He can go anywhere, be anyone, without any ties; for the first time in his life he can be free. I shouldn't have expected him to wait around for me."

So it was in silence that Bakura climbed the stairs, the occasional creak resounding through the broken air, his footsteps hollow and swallowed up by the thick carpet – one of Marik's perks. Bakura's heart raced as he thought of the Egyptian teen – would he still be a teenager? If so, then only just. Bakura's newly-human body was screaming hormones at him the more he thought about his once-partner, but things went much deeper than that, he was coming to realise. His emotions were on full-throttle again, and whilst practised at keeping them under control, Bakura was having a hard time understanding them. His throat constricted at the thought of never seeing Marik again, but then, one of the things he had always respected most about Marik was his ability to adapt to new environments. Marik would have adjusted to life without Bakura – it had been a long time, after all – and he would be out there, living the life he was supposed to; a life that didn't include a three-thousand year old spirit trapped in a human body. The body might be solely his now, but Bakura still knew that he didn't belong.

The upper floor of the house only held two rooms; one bedroom and one bathroom. Bakura looked at the familiar space with hollow eyes, his head pounding with the onslaught of emotions, his tired heart unable to sort through them, unable to work out how to cope. It had been so long since he was here, and the house had never been this silent, the rooms never this empty. It was wrong, it was _all wrong,_ and Bakura didn't know how to fix it...

Before he remembered ordering his feet to move, Bakura was back down the stairs and heading out of the back door, the lock still picked from where he had broken in. It was late in the day now, the sun dropping ever closer to the horizon as the light dwindled to nothing, shadows lengthening in the cool evening air. Bakura stood in the cramped back garden, his arms crossed in front of his chest. This house was too familiar to him. It was a mistake to come back, when he had lost so much.

_The front door slid open, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet in the hall. Eyes widened slightly at the sight of the open living room door, the prints left on the stairs, the scent that hung heavily in the air. Fingers clenched around house keys that were set ever so quietly down on the cabinet by the door. Something was different..._

Bakura shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing into slits as his dark gaze hit his surroundings. Was his gaze still dark? Bakura realised belatedly that he didn't even know what colour eyes he had now. His skin was definitely pale, his hair as white as ever, but other than that he was clueless. Finding a mirror hadn't exactly been top priority since he had found himself back here again.

_A single hesitant step into the hallway, the sound as muffled and silent as was possible. A slight disturbance in the air, heralded by soft, shallow breathing and accompanied by a swiftly beating heart in a very living chest, rustled softly through the quiet house. A bag was lowered carefully onto the living room floor as a bright gaze slowly took in all the signs of disturbance. They were hardly there, but if you knew where to look, you could spot the slight shift in the shadows, the new edge to the atmosphere. Someone else was here._

Bakura's eyes slid shut against the ever-lowering glare of the setting sun, his back finding purchase against the rough wall of the house. The stone was a comforting presence against the back of his head, warmed from the sun and a clear reminder that he really was here, back in the mortal world, free from responsibility. The back door swung open to his left, but Bakura couldn't bring himself to open his eyes ... It was too quiet out here...

_Footsteps edging carefully back out of the living room and into the kitchen, where the evidence was plain to see. The lock of the back door had been picked. A pulse raced in a tanned throat, heart jumping in the chest, hands trembling slightly as they reached for the back door, giving it a gentle push so that it swung open. That scent was back, that beautiful, impossibly familiar scent ... But it couldn't be..._

A footstep, and Bakura turned.

His body froze in shock.

Marik Ishtar was staring straight at him, eyes wide and jaw ever-so-slightly open, one hand reaching for the door. Bakura swallowed around his stiff muscles, his eyes drinking in the sight before him as he adjusted to his new body's reactions; his heart was beating far too loudly, an ache deep in his stomach shifting uncomfortably. His jaw clenched.

Marik just stared.

It was too much for Bakura to take. Finally seeing Marik before him again, he realised just how hard this time without him had been; a hole in Bakura's chest was slowly filling with warmth, a hole he had barely been aware of up until now. His muscles sang.

Bakura moved without thinking. He stepped closer, his arms reaching out to touch Marik, as if to make sure it was really him; this Egyptian youth who had come to mean so much, in a way Bakura had never allowed himself to realise before. His skin was hot under Bakura's fingernails, his hair soft in the grip of one hand, and his breath warm and enticing the closer Bakura got. It took only a matter of seconds for their lips to meet.

Marik, in his turn, gripped Bakura just as tightly as the ancient spirit held him, his arms looping urgently around Bakura's waist and tugging him insistently closer. Marik's lips were hot and pressing against Bakura's, his tongue ferocious in its movements, each new sensation sending shivers down Bakura's spine. They had done this often enough before, but Bakura had never been fully _himself_ before that moment. There was neither dark nor light tugging at him, telling him how wrong or right this was. There was just Bakura, and his body against Marik's, and the dwindling warmth of the last remaining dribbles of sunlight in the late evening glare.

Marik pulled back too soon for Bakura's liking, his breathing heavy but his eyes gleaming. Bakura felt a weight on his chest and drew in a quick mouthful of air, still getting used to moving and breathing entirely for himself; this barrage of sensation was something he would have to grow accustomed to. Marik kept close to him, their faces centimetres apart, Bakura's grip tight on Marik's shoulders, Marik's arms wrapped around Bakura's waist.

Working moisture into his mouth, Bakura finally found it in himself to speak. It was the first time, but his voice was the same dark, dulcet tone that it had always been. "I thought you would have left."

A smirk tugged at Marik's lips as he responded. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"Of course not," Bakura snorted, a little of his former arrogance lacing his words. "I don't stay dead for long."

Marik's smirk shifted into a wide grin, his eyes gleaming. "The Pharaoh is gone and the Ring is buried. I didn't think it would be possible for you to escape unscathed."

"I didn't." Bakura's voice dropped a little, but his sharp gaze still held Marik firmly in place. "I am not unscathed. Once I was three people, and now I am one. It's going to take a bit of time to adjust."

"Three?" Marik frowned. "I thought it was just you and Ryou."

Bakura finally looked away, his expression dimming slightly. This was the hardest part to explain – he had never told Marik everything about his previous life, back in Ancient Egypt. Marik's eyes were burning as he searched Bakura's expression, hunting for any clue as to what was going on his head – he looked the same as he always had, except for the haunted expression in his eyes and the small crease in his brow, thoughts clearly ruffled. He had also not argued with Marik yet, which had to be a first.

Sensing the scrutinising stare, Bakura released a low chuckle. He sent Marik a sidelong smirk, and that familiar gleam was back in his eyes; Marik's heart almost stopped when he saw it.

Bakura's smirk stretched. "Yes, you may well look confused. I never did tell you everything. Let me explain..."

Marik waited impatiently as Bakura trailed off, jigging slightly on the spot. "Hurry up, will you! You disappeared off the face of the planet for three years, and then you just turn up like nothing's the matter..."

"Three years?" Bakura interrupted, his tone a little shocked. "I haven't been away for three years!"

"Yes," Marik responded evenly, "You have. The Pharaoh's spirit passed on three years ago, after he defeated you. I thought you were dead!"

Bakura stared at him, his eyes a little wider, his smirk dropping into a small 'O'. "Three ... years? You stuck around here for that long? I thought you would have gone off travelling..."

"Never got around to it," Marik muttered, looking away slightly and coughing.

Bakura grinned. "What, were you clinging onto every last memory of me? Poor little child."

"Shut it," Marik hissed, but his tone was lighter now; this was the sardonic Bakura he remembered. "Just tell me what the hell happened."

Bakura flashed his teeth before his face sank back into its previous, almost pensive expression. "Your wish is my command. You know that my village was slaughtered by the Pharaoh back in Ancient Egypt. Well, after I saw that happen, I became the vessel of a demon that was raised by the ancient Shadow Magic. It joined my soul, and remained a part of me when I bound myself to the Ring. Then, when Ryou picked it up, there were three of us – he is my original reincarnation, much as Yugi is to the Pharaoh. There were three of us in that Ring, and whilst we were separate entities, needless to say the boundaries became a little blurred on occasion." Here, Bakura's sardonic smirk twisted his lips once again.

Marik stared at him, trying to take in his words. "Are you ... trying to tell me ... that you are the devil, or something?"

"Of course not," Bakura spat, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Weren't you listening at all, Ishtar? I was the vessel of a demon. The demon is gone now, though; he really was destroyed by the Pharaoh. I just somehow got overlooked."

Marik's frown deepened, silence sizzling between them for a moment before a secretive smile slowly spread across his face. "So, you outlasted the devil, hm? Can nothing make you stay dead?"

"It wouldn't appear so," Bakura chuckled. "A fact for which you are grateful, I'm sure."

"Please," Marik scoffed. "We were doing just fine without you."

"Sure seems like it." Bakura looked rather pointedly at the minuscule amount of space separating them, his arms still clasped tightly around Marik's shoulders.

Marik shoved him lightly, his eyes still gleaming. "So, you came back. And you came back here."

"To find that _you_ had never left," Bakura sneered, but his eyes betrayed his true emotions. Marik's only response was to slide nearer, tugging Bakura almost impossibly close and resting his head in his white hair. Bakura sighed lowly, his fingers gliding over Marik's shoulders and rubbing smooth circles into his back. "I missed you, you know."

Marik went still for a moment, his grip faltering, before he pulled Bakura even further to him. "Missed you, too."

Bakura's smirk turned wicked, the warmth of Marik pressed against him reflecting the warmth he felt rising in his chest. The feeling was almost sickening. Grasping Marik's shoulders, he drew him back forcefully, meeting his eyes before he leaned closer once more. Marik met him eagerly, lips moving hungrily, tongue licking at Bakura's as they each fought the other.

They ended up curled together on the sofa, Bakura's arms tight around Marik, Marik's head resting against his chest. The TV blared occasionally in a corner of the room, but the two were too focused on adjusting to each other's presence to pay it any attention. Bakura's fingers were in Marik's hair, softly stroking the soft golden locks, whilst Marik rubbed circles into Bakura's chest, bunching the material of his shirt under his tanned fingers. Bakura allowed himself to relax, balancing the unnerving responses of his new body by relearning the familiar curves of Marik's own, tracing the muscles of his abdomen, the scars on his back, the shape of his face and the soft strands of his hair. Marik leaned in to his every touch, moulding himself around Bakura, tracing patterns through his clothing and along his bare arms. The silence enveloped them, comforting rather than threatening, the atmosphere dimming along with the light as the shadows grew around them.

Marik, after he had deemed it long enough, finally twisted his head up to face Bakura. "So," he intimated quietly, continuing to trace patterns against Bakura's clothed chest. "Would I be right in thinking that you'll be sticking around for a while?"

"I certainly don't plan on paying for a place of my own," Bakura snickered, his arms momentarily tightening around Marik before relaxing once more.

Marik glared up at him, his fingers clenching for a moment before they resumed their gentle movements. "No more running off on crazy missions that will get you killed?"

"What, again?"

"_Bakura," _Marik growled, his eyes flaring. "If you ever leave again, I swear, I'll kill you myself."

Bakura chuckled. "I'd like to see you try."

"No, you wouldn't," Marik hissed, throwing his head back against Bakura's chest and closing his eyes. "Stroke my hair again."

"Your wish is my command," Bakura muttered, obediently pulling his fingers back through the blonde strands. Marik sighed, relaxing fully against him, and Bakura shifted a little under the added weight. This was certainly something he could get used to.

At that moment in time, Bakura realised he had everything he needed. The Pharaoh was gone, sunk into the afterlife, and with the destruction of the Millennium Items his people could finally be at peace. His body, mind, and soul were all his own once more, and Marik was wrapped up safely in his arms.

With a final, low sigh, Bakura allowed his eyes to slide shut.

**Yep, fluffy ending. I hope this satisfied you, CursiveBlade13, and thanks to everyone who read! XD - Jem**


End file.
